


pull away, feeling hotter than fire

by ForceChokedOut (wilySubversionist)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, jedi - Fandom
Genre: Canon? We don't need no stinkin canon, F/M, Light Bondage, Porn with a fig leaf of plot, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilySubversionist/pseuds/ForceChokedOut
Summary: “You can kill me now, Rey of the Jedi,” he whispered, in a voice too soft to be Kylo Ren and too hungry to be the ghost of novice Ben Solo. “I’ve gotten what I bargained my life for.”His hand still gripping her face, she gawped at him, puzzling at his meaning.Is that why had he surrendered? Just to chance this moment? That would beinsane.





	pull away, feeling hotter than fire

It was so easy, in the end. Nearly two years of war, being hunted like a hare across the galaxy, recruiting new fighters for the Resistance only to lose them to strikes and skirmishes again and again. After all that exhausting cat and mouse, victory was at hand: wrecks of immense battleships plummeted through the red sky all around, debris of a great and lasting rout of the First Order fleet. And here, with the last of his dreams of conquest crashing all around, Rey had Kylo Ren on his knees.

The duel had been intense, ranging across the rocky terrain outside the bunker the First Order had used as one of their Mid Rim command posts. Now, that post’s command was dead or captured. As the incursion had worn on, while officers and Stormtroopers dropped around them as they whirled and pushed each other through the complex and back out under the explosive sky, Kylo’s ruthless, desperate attacks left openings Rey exploited, a little gingerly perhaps, until she had gained the irrevocable upper hand. Easier than she’d ever imagined.

Now, looking down into his face as he yielded before her, it looked quite like the last time --first time, really-- they’d met with lightsabers blazing and deadly intent in the old, crumbling boreal wood on Starkiller Base. Holding herself in the same posture of victory -- _victory assured and his face split and still bearing my mark, she thought_ \-- she let the electric blue of her sabersword edge towards singeing the visible pulse that thrummed at her foe’s throat. After all the running, the rise and fall of feinting and striking, Rey had won and couldn’t help but smirk though the weary anger and electric thrill that made her feel incandescent.

“We’ve won, Ben. The First Order is over,” she said, ragged triumph ringing out in every syllable. His eyes were alight in the blue blaze, full of rage and fear and rebellious desire, too: too many facets to decipher by just her weapon’s cold light. Those haunting, dark eyes were still in his scarred face, open as always with so much conflicted feeling written on it. 

Still, with the shields she maintained to block out their dogged connection -- it never faltered in all this time -- she could hardly sense his presence, let alone his feeling. Rey didn’t dare open herself to his mind, curiosity be damned, but that opaque layer between them and all the energy she wasted maintaining it irritated her beyond telling. A quiet storm rose in her mind, and the Force responded, striking the ground near them with more fiery shrapnel than before.

She yet hadn’t disarmed him; his saber still cast its jagged red light along the stone where it it dipped low. Rey’s eyes flicked from his to the weapon; she saw a tense of wrist that could have been either a simple twitch of exertion or the start of a new sortee. She moved the edge of her saber a fraction of an inch closer to a killing slice, rising rage spilling from her chest to her hand. Kylo’s mouth twitched, barely but obviously, his adam’s apple bobbing. He was testing every path, every possible way out of this resounding defeat, and though his face was unmoving, calm, the look in his eyes showed he despaired utterly. 

_His face._ Rey didn’t know how to describe how she felt looking into it, even in the deepest corners of her own mind where she tried on different words -- _pitied, desired, sought to redeem_ \-- that all chafed and galled like a garment that fits just poorly enough to make you a little crazy. Regardless of how she felt towards those pale, scarred features half-hidden by wet strands of dark hair, it was the old same game, where her mental protection through the Force also hid his intentions from her. Perhaps his tight jaw and trembling lips were a plea for mercy; perhaps they whispered a wish to end it all here. If there was something else -- a starved quality -- beyond survival, best to note it and push it aside.

His calmness drove her mad. How could he sit there -- _kneel, rather_ \-- and offer nothing, express nothing! A Jedi at meditation couldn’t have been such a perfect portrait of stillness. 

Rey set her own mouth, teeth clenched between parted lips, against the sudden and clear rage she felt. So much death, so much damage, between them and even now, he gave her nothing. An itch in her fingers felt like fire. If it turned into a flex, she could end this for good. She wanted to. His eyes widened.

“I yield,” he rasped, as much to his own surprise as hers. After a long, dry swallow, he added, “I cry your mercy, Jedi, and submit myself to your judgement.”

Old words, those. Ones she’d learned from the ancient tomes she’d heisted from Ach’to. He must have learned them from Skywalker, back when Luke was in a more pedagogical mood. His old student had remembered and now surrendered, more formally than Rey would have looked for, and so tied her hands. The tip of her blade steadied and withdrew by an inch; the growling anger in her chest subsided.

“Alright, Kylo Ren, Ben Solo that was. I hear your plea and offer you the mercy of the Jedi knights and the justice of the Jedi Council.” Each phrase was correct but strange in her mouth. They were called from the same text as his had been, but she hardly knew how she’d come to fit them in there.

Clemency cemented by the old ways of teachers long dead, Ren sagged a little. A Jedi -- the last true Jedi, her status as the singular and final one gave the lie to the mercy and justice he’d thrown himself on; there were no Knights, no Council, just her -- would grant him all the courtesy due a vanquished prisoner, and so he was safe enough. What else lay ahead, neither of them knew.

On this smoking ruin of a battlefield, held to ancient treaties that hardly felt fair, Rey retracted one of her sabersword’s beams. Kylo Ren rose from his knees, bowing a little towards her, to show that he would follow if she led the way.

***

Chewie had the Falcon well in hand after that first light jump, and they weren't headed far, just back to the Resistance’s latest burrow under some rocky nonsense planet no one would suspect, as safe as the last until Ren had ferreted it out. The Wookie had balked at taking her new spoils of war aboard, grasping for his bowcaster before she’d shouted “Stand down! He’s surrendered!” Perhaps if she’d loved Han half as well as he had, she would have let Chewbacca shoot, but the Jedi Code she’d absorbed from the old books and her own cat-with-a-canary pride challenged his grief and rage. Ben -- _or Kylo_ , she had no idea what to call him and continually swapped one name for another, even in her own mind-- she stowed in the crew’s quarters, seated on the floor with Force-resistant manacles hitched to a non-essential pipe that she lied and said would fill only his compartment with poison gas. He had nodded, then, and seemed to believe her. 

Rey retreated back to the cockpit to pilot the ship through the first jump, then observed the second, her sweat-dampened skin itching each leap to go back and put watchful eyes ( _but certainly_ not _hungry skin_ , she immediately countered her own imagination ) on their precious and perilous cargo. Her fidgeting at an unbearable level, it was her dour copilot who suggested she head back and make sure all was okay. Quietly nodding, she acquiesced to the wisdom of Wookies.

Deep in hyperspace flight, the Falcon barreled along opposite her own slow, distracted movements. Rey still couldn’t believe she’d captured the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Yes, she thought proudly, she had beat him in a fair fight, but she really hadn’t (despite her traitorous heart’s design, perhaps) thought to find him on the field, let alone take him alive. The shock of his faint presence in the Force staggered her a second, before she made up her mind to end this brutal war as she’d darkly known it always had to be ended -- a contest of Dark and Light, a lost boy and an abandoned girl facing off while the world burst around them. They both knew it, as soon as her feet hit the last planet’s dirt that already caked his.

Clanking along the long gangways towards the Falcon’s belly, Rey was sure to telegraph her movement, not unlike how she’d obliquely felt Ben -- _Kylo_ \-- in the Force planetside. It wouldn’t be right to catch him unawares.

But for a brief instant when she caught sight of him, it was she who was disarmed. He hung as she’d left him: wrists bound tight and their links looped over an inconsequential but strong pipe, glimpses of his torso exposed -- pale and rippled with musculature beneath filthy black rag-strips remains of his armor -- before disappearing beneath surprisingly sturdy trousers. His face, as she caught it before it turned to an angry scowl at her presence, was slack and sad, staring regretfully at some image of the past.

Rey spoke his name. He looked up at her, feral and enraged.

“Ben,” she said again, waiting a moment until his anger subsided. “Is there anything I can get for you? Anything you need?”

His eyes met hers levelly, challenging them to meet his in anger as he smirked, a cruel tic of the lips and hard light in his eyes. “Such a good Jedi, so very _kind_ as to look after me in my bondage. But no, I am as comfortable as an execution-bound prisoner ever was.”

She scoffed, a throaty sound she hoped after didn’t sound as harsh as she thought it. “Such drama. You’re not sentenced yet. And if you find yourself wanting freedom, who’s to blame but your own self?”

Brown and cracking sad, his eyes stayed locked steady with hers. “No one, I suppose. Though I did come willingly, with my mind empty of all retribution. You saw it.”

Did I? Rey questioned. She’d seen a defeated man, a man she had once thought she could call brother --- or better -- though he’d given way only after a long calculus for liberty followed by deep despair. He had come of his own accord at last, had proven her trust at least that far. She turned to return to the cockpit.

“All the same,” he threw his quiet voice over her shoulder, “I do have an itch on my nose,”

Rey scowled. That is some low trickery, beneath them both. “Then meditate it away. Or don’t they teach self-control to lords of the Sith?”

“I’m no Sith,” he rejoined immediately, red-faced. “And no matter how long I meditate, I can’t bloody well scratch my face in handcuffs.” He rattled his chains, tilted his face imperiously upward, but his jaw remained slack and soft. She traced its edge with her eye from chin-point to jaw-hinge, considering.

“Fine,” she replied. Rey took several steps closer, crouched down on her haunches over his long legs, and raised a hand (more timid than warranted, her fear shaming her) up to the tip of his long nose. Her index finger wiggled to scratch the very end of it. 

The sound he made -- exasperated, beleaguered -- was not very prisoner-esque. “No,” he sighed, “You’re doing it wrong. The itch is on the side. Left side!” He added sharply when her hand moved the wrong direction. She rubbed his nostril with the edge of her nail, then lightly cuffed him on the same side.

“You don’t talk to me like that. Prisoner, remember?”

His eyes were dark and deep, a little wet with the pain of her hand. It might not leave a welt, but it had stung at any rate. Shit, she was no better than any power-hungry guard.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“I provoked you,” he replied. His shoulders hitched up slightly, a shackled shrug.

She looked up through her lashes, shamefaced but searching, into his eyes. She found no golden ring around his irises, no goading smirk on his lips: just a man, completely at her discretion, and big enough to admit when he was pushing her limits. Rey sighed and looked away.

“I never wanted this, you know.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry that we’re here, too.”

Rey pulled her focus from the decking and the corner and all around the Falcon to rest back on his eyes. He was sincere. He was vulnerable. He was just a man.

“Why, Ben? Why wouldn’t you come with me? After Snoke?”

He shrugged again as best he could with his hands chained above his head, “Without an iron will strong with the Force to guide and control the galaxy, there is no chance for peace.”

Rey shook her head sadly. “That’s wampashit, and you know it. Tell me the real reason.”

The thick knot at his throat bobbed up and down, his full lips wobbling before he spoke. “I couldn’t go back. You and I could have made something new, together, but there was nothing to go back to. You all despise me.”

It didn’t surprise her, but she was offended nonetheless. “You would have found forgiveness! A new family, a fresh start!” Rey grew quiet. “A mother’s waiting arms.”

Ren shook his head hard, once, twice, a stray damp strand swinging across his temple. “No. You’re the only one who believes that, and you’ve still got me in chains.”

It hit her like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t ever really right, but never completely wrong either. Rey stared at the sad twisted smile on his lips, then the red welts blooming at his wrists, and made a decision. 

Kylo Ren’s face blanked out in surprise as the first manacle fell away. She the cuff, watching his face intently. He was all surprise as he rubbed at his raw wrist against his chest for a second while he regarded his very lenient captor.

“You better not give me cause to regret this, Ben So--”

He lunged forward and stopped her mouth with a kiss, urgent and hot, tight-lipped but in no way chaste, not by a parsec. His newly-freed hand tangled in the wisps of hair alongside her ear, digging deeper and dislocating sections of her bun with their eager fingertips that dug into the side of her scalp. He nearly devoured her.

A long moment passed, their lips pressing and gliding along each other, his fingers gripped tight, before he pulled back. “You can kill me now, Rey of the Jedi,” he whispered, in a voice too soft to be Kylo Ren and too hungry to be the ghost of novice Ben Solo. “I’ve gotten what I bargained my life for.”

His hand still gripping her face, she gawped at him, puzzling at his meaning. _Is that why had he surrendered? Just to chance this moment? That would be_ insane. 

Crazier still, she was the one who pressed on next, her mouth hard and insistent against his, widening with time until eventually her tongue found space to dart tentatively between his lips, then delved deeper once his jaw opened to her. His free hand, disentangling from her frayed hair, rested lightly at her hip but grew tighter and tighter with each passing moment. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, hindered only slightly by his remaining shackle, fingernails rasping his scalp and hands lost in his thick dark waves.

He pulled back to breath after a long moment, still caught comfortably in her arms. The look in his eyes was fire -- hardly like a hearth, more like a blaze carving up a dry mountainside or blue lightning slaloming through a poorly made circuit board. But even now, there was no amber circle around his flared pupils, no trace of the Dark Side in his gaze.

There was no telling who began the next kiss. But it was certainly Ben’s -- _or Kylo’s_ , she reminded herself obliquely -- unfettered hand that crept shyly under the hem of her top and then pushed ahead to feel the hot skin at her waist, the bumpy landscape of her ribcage, the smooth valley under her breast. He paused there, eyes searching.

Rey looked into his face, naked now with need and affection; felt his hand tremble a little against her ribs; and pushed him hard -- all her strength and a little Force-- back against the hull of the ship with her hips astride him.

“Why did you surrender to me? For this?”

He looked bashful for a moment, like his pride was a thick thing in his mouth he was swallowing down. “Yes,” he answered with a croak. His hand slowly circled around her waist, big enough his fingertips traced the divots of her spine. “And I saw your face, when you had me pinned. I couldn’t let you kill me; I couldn’t let you fall to the Dark.”

She blinked hard. She’d been angry at him, yes, but was she so close to cold-blooded murder? Staring at his face, pale and dark in equal measure, soundlessly begging her for gentleness, she better understood his fear as her lightsasber had edged closer to his neck. He was still terrified for them both, and she now, in penance, she met his worried mouth with hers.

Her renewed kisses came desperately, her hands roaming over bicep and belly while her mouth worked his, tongues slipping past each other in a game of dominance. He tried once to pull his shoulders up from near recline against the wall of the Falcon, and she called on the full weight of the Force to settle him back, leaning half against the hull. It was so easy to move him so. _The Force,_ she thought, _wants me to win._

Her splayed legs pressed his hips, and it was then she fell the hard length of his cock; it startled her but she didn’t move away. After so many kisses and unhurried caresses between them, Rey drew back from her prisoner-convert with a smile, fingertips trailing down his torso to his rather high trouser buckle. He was entranced, completely unable to deal with both the ecstatic stimulus of her movements, and the wild, wanton intent in her eyes. 

When she’d unclasped the closure, freed his erection from his pants, and wrapped her eager lips around it was the most joyously unexpected moment of his life. Her perfectly coral lips, wet with a sensuous lick beforehand, became a soft cloud of pleasure on the head of his cock. Overwhelmed, his head fell backwards, scraping against the ship's hull; he wasn’t entirely ignorant, but he’d also never had it done so gently before and it undid him completely. 

Rey moved hesitantly, her sweet, strong movements building with each motion like honeyed castles in her wake. As her tongue flicked under the head of his penis, he arched his back and thrust the hand she’d released from his shackles high behind his head as if he was still chained, instead luxuriating in the sensation before returning to the reality of his impending orgasm.

“No, Rey,” he murmured, suddenly hunching touch her face, then clasp her by the shoulder, pulling her off him with a soft, filthy pop. He could hardly weather the hurt look in her eye. Face still hovering mere inches above his wet length, she shot him a look that was pure angry disbelief. He stammered to explain that it wasn’t anything about her perfect, giving motion that made him stop, but it was already clear in her posture -- crossed arms, even crosser expression -- she was missing something vital. 

Rey’s face shaded scarlet. She had done all she knew how to make him feel good. Deeply embarrassed, she moved back from his hard and spit-slick body, wondering what she’d done wrong. The ache between her legs, hovering over his knees, shamed her. His face was gentle, but she had no idea what lay behind it. They had shared a brief but profound bond, once, full of tender recognition and quiet longing which she had thought she’d understood. Now both his look and his feeling in the Force was clouded; she’d let that past intimacy and her present passion master her, and made a serious misstep. Rey glanced at his still-bound wrist as this free hand reached for her face. _He is still my prisoner,_ she thought, _I’m forcing him against his will._

“Ben, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, horrified. She rocked back on the balls of her feet until her ass hit hard steel, freeing his legs from under hers. 

Her face was sunburn red, her hair loose and wild like it had been sand whipped, and the sad, shamefaced look she gave him reminded him of a desert child crying, that he had seen so long ago, filtered through her own memory as in a dream.

“No, no,” Ben whispered soothingly, but she shut her tearing eyes against seeing his own. He’d tried to prolong this moment and had somehow shattered it instead, fool that he was. Something outside his body, beyond hearing, implored him to fix this. To make her feel good, to feel wanted again. 

And he could, easily. In the jolt of that realization, he launched forward, lips pressing hers again so hard their teeth clinked together like a toast. His hand found a rough grip in her hair, wrist covering her ears so she could hear his heart pound. The arm left wrenched against the metal of the ship created an ache he ignored. 

Rey hesitated, still unsure that her desire hadn’t compelled this response, but he moaned into her mouth, willing her to feel his want, his desperate affection. He grabbed around her waist and pulled her close, leaving her half-pressed her under his long body, a lean line of desire seeking contact at every possible point, and after a few moments of kisses and willing her to understand, Kylo felt her body rise and passion surge to meet his.

When there was no doubt, from the tiny sucking bruises he left along her jaw and neck to his still-hard cock pressing hard against the hollow of her hipbone, Kylo eased up again. In that instant, Rey gasped before gathering herself -- _in preparation to be won over, to open herself to him as wide a mind-meld,_ Kylo thought -- and then pressed her advantage again. Her hands reached up around his head to fumble then free his wrist from the second manacle. When she’d released him completely, she pushed hands on his shoulders so that he slid entirely down the side of the ship. His back now felt each square of the decking, her knees dug in beside his hips, and that hot pulsing place between her thighs pressed down on his stiff, bare and waiting cock. 

Rey had, once again, the upper hand. She could have died from chagrin, thinking she’d forced him, but after he’d shown her her error with his incessantly probing tongue and unfailingly hard length held against her, her confidence soared once more. She wasn’t nervous and positioned above him now, when she gripped the bottom of her tunic in both hands, tugging upwards to bare the wraps that snaked across her bosom and arms, she could feel his palms before they reached her. The center of his hands held her small, hard nipples, fingertips flexing into the giving flesh above the breasts, not even clear of their bandage wraps yet. 

His hips bucked involuntarily, striking through taut fabric the pulsing node that left her breathless. Rey was astride this hips, yes, holding him down, but everywhere else, now with both hands free he snatched and grabbed for an avantage, tugging at the flesh at her waist and back and breasts, eager to feel every part of her while his hips jerked toward her, hitting again that sensitive spot that left her without sense at all.

Each thrust upward filled her with two parts thrilling jolt of promise and one part guilty failure: he was still her prisoner, she was meant to be in control, was he not? So she ground down with her hips, capturing each upward motion with intense concentration, building the friction between her thighs where it seemed to count most. Pinning his hips with hers was exhausting; and when his roling thumb and forefinger pinched the electric tip of her breast, she nearly howled with ecstatic surprise.

Kylo -- she held no illusions that fond, old Ben would want to see her writhe this way -- moved under her and kept at stroking and smoothing the most sensitive part of her, while her traitorous hips rocked forward, feeling his hard length against the fabric of her leggings where there was a pulsing lack underneath. She couldn’t stand this halfway feeling any longer.

Guided by instinct only -- _and filthy dreams that ran right along these lines, with Kylo Ren’s long lean body arousing feelings dirtier than a Jakku dust storm,_ if she’d let herself admit it-- Rey knew in an instant: she had to capture this man entirely, all of his body and as much of his soul was yet unclaimed. 

This overwhelming knowledge went well beyond her instant, seeking daughter-love for Han and her corresponding desire to redeem his son, or even her fierce devotion to the vision she had those years before, when they first clasped hands only in their minds. Each second his stiff, sensitive hardness pressed against the spot where the seam of her trousers hit, Rey understood. This was beyond her belief in saving Ben Solo, or condemning Kylo Ren. She truly didn’t care whose hungry eyes locked on hers. This fiery want lived in her body only, separate from philosophy or fate; and so she guided her own pants down her hips with a feral animal’s grace, inching the fabric awkwardly over her knees one after the other, leaving her bottom half barer than his.

“Ahh,” he gasped, still surprised to feel her damp heat against him even after all that had gone before. She grinned at his flagrant need, though her smile faltered as he reached to stroke her cheek and asked, “Are you sure?”

Stunned a moment, nearly consumed with the throbbing between her thighs, she looked down at him and searched her feelings honestly. “Yes,” she breathed, her hand wrapping around his cock and guiding it upwards to where she was desperate to feel him. Kylo shuddered beneath her as her hand slowly pumped his length and it’s silky tip pushed against her opening, hot and wet and ready to envelope him.

In an instant, his hands on the small of her back and crown of her head, he flipped her, her shoulders pressed painfully into the cold decking. He was above her now, positioned to slide deliciously inside her, with a disturbing gleam in his eye.

“This is how it should be: you took me, but now I’ll take you,” he crooned close to her neck as he hovered above her, so close to entering her. Rey could hardly bear the heat pressing between her legs. She tried to move her hands to his hair, but his big fingers had caught her wrists, lifted them over her head in a mockery of his shackles, holding her in place. He rolled the sinewy length of his body against her, bare skin touching at breast and hip and thigh as she writhed to get free again. Rey let out a breath that was half-panic, half-need.

The more she struggled under the substantial press of his body, the more her nipples grazed his skin, the more the juncture between her thighs rubbed against his rock-hard length. He raised himself until the tip of his hard cock was wedged only slightly between the folds of her body. She breathed his name. And as she did, he pushed himself into her entirely.

Rey had starved on Jakku, been brutalized on Starkiller Base, felt the ache of guilty on Ach’to, been resigned to fate on D’Qar. But she was unprepared for all those feelings at once, stretching pleasurably at the crux between her legs as Kylo Ren filled her up with one fluid motion.

There was a sharp, searing pain, and she cried out. Ben still held both her wrists over her head in his giant’s grip, his body moving snakelike against hers; his mouth feathered kisses at the corner of her bottom lip, spreading a wild whisper-feeling across her face and down her whole body. As he found his steady, deep rhythm, pushing further within her, she moaned and widened her legs, her mouth and knees acting on their own accord, asking for more.

It was impossible to tell when the fire of the kisses he laid all across her face met the heat of her belly that spread across her limbs, shaking them as it went, but with each roll and thrust and sweet sucking kiss, this man -- oh, he even smelled gloriously like a man, _sweat and peat and animal fur_ , body redolent and hard like she’d imagined a man would be -- whose name she could hardly guess laid waste to any resistance she might have held onto. She rolled her hips in time with his, her body begging for more: more heat and pressure, more marvelous stretching shock as he thrust harder and more completely into her, stroking places inside she hadn’t known existed.

Rey’s haggard breathing and deepening moans, the utterly unconscious way she matched his rhythm, convinced him that she had been completely mastered. His hands released her wrists, one bending to the side of her face, the other reaching down to grip and lift the underside of her thigh. Leg held in the air, she was open wider than she'd thought possible, and he filled her completely. Holding her tight beneath him, Kylo felt the tightening surge of his orgasm start to ache in his balls. He bent his mouth to her ear, wetly tracing the outer cornices with his lips before he murmured, “Now. Come for me _now_ ,” into that sensitive shell.

Rey hardly knew what he meant, but her body reacted, clenching first where they joined and then blasting outward until her toes curled and her ears rung. Kylo hunched and pushed hard, grunting, but she barely noticed, her own pleasure blacking out his, until she felt a wet warmth spread in that juncture where he rocked inside her. Panting, arms wrapped around him, fingernails digging into the rough planes of his back, Rey tried to breath deep, stilling her riotous heartbeat.

The curve of his body flattened against her again, and his eyes, when he looked back into hers, seemed to belong to that young and awkward Jedi apprentice she’d imagined; deep inside her still, he was at a loss, and would have rolled away if her hips had not caught his and her eyes that could have compelled an emperor’s, flashed. She didn’t rely on the Force now, just her her own muscled strength, to flip him off and pin him beneath her, without his receding cock ever leaving her hungry hollow.

She laughed above him now, darkly joyous that she, for all she had given up, still won the high ground. He grimaced with each lingering aftershock jolt of her body, eyes wide. Still panting a little, Rey rasped, “Well, what now, Kylo?”

His pupils blown, confusion all in his dark eyes, he hardly knew the beautiful, hard woman who had him once again pinned to the hard decking of the ship. He felt his cock stir, still held inside her, ready to erase his bewilderment with simple desire. Beneath her wanting body and stern gaze, all he could do was look up into the amber-bright halos that ringed her pupils. He flexed his core to strain to kiss her; her imperious hand relaxed a little to allow the motion, but kept pressure enough to never allow him to forget that he was under her hand.

 _What now?_ As his mouth met hers, he breathed relief; he had no earthly idea, but every faith that it would be better than fine. It would be whatever she willed.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hi there. Hope you enjoyed reading! This is the first time I've actually written smut, hope it does what it's meant to.  
> Inspiration and title from: west coast by lana del rey
> 
> Crit and comments more than welcome! More (slightly less porny) to come; tumblr: Force-Choked-Out


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